“Well--” he hesitated over his answer as they walked on. “I reckon it’s all right,” he hazarded. But he was thinking rapidly. Here, in all likelihood, was the proof for which the pro-slavery sympathizers had long been watching. Dr. Ware’s outspoken sentiments and his activity in the anti-slavery movement had caused them to suspect he was connected with Underground operations. “Are you sure you weren’t dreaming?” he asked jocularly. “When did you see him and what was he doing?” “Do I usually dream around in the daytime, Billy Saunders? I saw him about an hour ago and he was sound asleep. And if you think I don’t know a nigger when I see one you can go and look for yourself!” They had reached the Saunders gate and he lifted his hat in farewell. “Remember you’re to keep that secret,” she called after him, in appeasement of a sudden compunction. “Oh, I can keep a secret as well as you can,” he laughed back. Secretly a little troubled by his answer, but saying to herself defiantly, “Well, they deserve whatever happens, anyway!” she went into the house. He quickened his steps to the office of the United States marshal. At the home of Mrs. Hardaker the members of the anti-slavery sewing circle were busy over their needles when Rhoda, from her seat near a front window, saw Horace dash up the street in a buggy. Springing out, he came up the front walk almost on a run. He saw her face at the window and beckoned. She went out and met him at the front door. “Is there any U. G. baggage at your house, Rhoda?” he asked at once in low, anxious tones. “Yes. A young man came late last night and has been sleeping all day.” “Then that’s it! I just now discovered that Marshal Hanscomb was on the track of something, and I was afraid it might be there! I’ve got a case in court that will be called in ten minutes, but I borrowed this buggy from my client and rushed over here. Is your father at home?” “No. I’ve got to go and get him away.” She was hurrying into her bonnet and wrap. “You’d better let me--” “No, no. You can’t leave your case. That would be too suspicious. I’ll manage it.” “Don’t walk home--take this buggy.” They were already rushing to the gate and he went on as he assisted her to the seat: “There’s not a minute to lose. Hanscomb’s getting ready now to start out with his men.” She was soon in the cross street upon which backed their row of outbuildings. Here a wide door gave entrance to the woodshed. It was kept padlocked and she had to waste a few minutes finding Jim to unlock the door. The young negro, dazed by this sudden awakening to danger, was hustled into the buggy, a small, uncovered, box-seated vehicle. Rhoda made him double up in the little space at her feet and covered him with a carriage rug. Then over her own lap and down over him she spread an ample robe, which Jim hastily tucked in at the sides.